


The Bird With Lavender Wings

by corrosive



Category: Shamanic Princess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8367583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrosive/pseuds/corrosive
Summary: A girl named Blodwyn who lives as a hermit in the forest after her own traumatic experiences with her partner, finds a run-away partner named Graham after his failed suicide attempt in her forest.





	

Blodwyn fluttered by the side of her small, white pony. Her opaque, yellow wings did not feel the cold, but she would be unable to fly if she stayed out in the softly falling snow for too long. She was gathering firewood. Winter had come early this year. She stroked her pony’s short, tangled mane. It was a small pony, with short legs and a round tummy. The long sled which it pulled was not full, but she did not want it to be too heavy for the little creature. It had grown old, and got tired easily.

            “Thank you for all your help, dear one. Let’s go back now,” she said, gently.

            The pony nodded in understanding. Blodwyn knew it was not a real pony, but some other creature which had taken a pony’s shape. But it seemed to prefer being a pony, so she treated it as such.

            They were not far from home. The two of them lived in a very small cabin just inside the forest’s edge. No one lived nearby. It was only her, the pony, and the endless trees. That was what Blodwyn liked best. She remembered that once she had lived in the valley where the weather is almost always lovely and there is plenty of food to be found. But she had left it behind. She still had her powers, bestowed upon her by the rulers of the Guardian World. But she no longer had her family. And she did not want them. She shook her head, feeling uneasy at the memory of what she had left behind. Such memories had not come in years. She alighted on the ground, although her feet were bare, and picked up some of the firewood from the sled to carry. Maybe that would help quicken the pony’s pace. She wanted to be home, safe inside the four walls she had painted with spells and flowers. She wanted to sleep.

            There was the barren holly bush. There was the thick tangle of underbrush and thorny vines which carefully concealed her home. But she still felt uneasy. She looked to the little pony, to see if it was afraid as well. It snorted and stamped it hooves in the snow. Then, she closed her eyes and listened. Yes, it was as she feared. She felt a power, similar to the one she possessed herself. It was like blood spurting from an open wound. It felt infected. If there was something here to harm her, she would not wait for it to attack in secret.

            Blodwyn lead the pony to the stable attached to the side of the house. She covered the pony with a blanket and gave it food. Then she stacked the firewood. All the while she was on her guard, listening to every sound. It was very quiet and the snow was still falling. She felt the power growing weaker, but it was still nearby. She went into her little house. The fire was dying but she did not light it. She sat down on her mattress which was stuffed with straw, and put on her boots. They were too small and pinched her toes, but she would need them if she was outside in the cold for long. Then, she dug into the earthen floor and unburied a thin, pale pink box. The box was closed with a silver clasp which broke and fell off when she opened it. Inside it was a white flute painted with ivy and red rose petals. The flute was clean and warm to the touch. She held it gently. Although she had rarely used it since her days in the valley, it still made her feel safe and loved.  She slipped it into her apron pocket.

            Outside, she made a circle of invisible darkness about her home. She bid goodbye to her pony. She could feel that it was worried about her, and she comforted it. She offered up a prayer to the forest gods that she would return safely. An owl hooted in the distance. A cold wind blew, and she put up the hood on her cloak. Then, she went to find what strange thing had come into her forest.

            Her nose prickled at the scent of fresh blood. Perhaps it was just some creature feeding, but she couldn’t help but feel afraid. The, whatever it was, was very close now. Its power felt twisted and desperate. It had not moved at all as she had searched for it. It could be a trap. It could be waiting for her. She felt dizzy, and clutched the flute in her pocket. The scent of blood grew overpowering as she drew nearer to the source of the strange power. She went over in her mind the words of protection and the words of strength. She had not forgotten. She had never lost a fight.

            She saw a heavy branch broken in two. The source of the power was here. She took her flute from her pocket, and stood on the ground to draw her own power from the earth. There was blood on the trees. Claw marks in the bark. More broken branches. Red snow. Pine needles. It was like a nest. It was a nest. And in the center, stabbed through with a sharpened birch branch, there was a bird. She drew closer. No, it was not a bird. It was a human with long, rose-colored hair. Its left arm was made of metal and had sharp claws. Its right eye was closed and blood ran from it. The left side of its face was covered by a mask, but it’s eye was wide open. It made her nervous.

            “Why are you here?” she asked.

            It made a gurgling noise and vomited blood on the ground. Blodwyn felt sorry for it, but she could sense that it was still very strong. It could still be trying to trick her. It raised its head, and she saw the red stone in the center of its forehead. She felt sick. It was a partner. It was one of those creatures who are summoned from an unknown world to serve and protect children who have been granted power. She had once had a partner for a few minutes. Her partner had been born covered in blood. It wasn’t able to survive the painful process of summoning. She had never been able to forget its cries, never able to forget how it looked at her with terror and hatred. It was why she had left her home, everything she knew and everyone she loved, to live alone forever.

            She raised the flute to her lips, and began to play. She would put it out of its misery. From the earth, her tangled, thorny vines blossoming with red roses grew. The vines reached out, wrapped around the creature’s neck. Its wings became visible. It had long, hawk-like, lavender wings. Its pain and misery manifested as pink-eyed rabbits with bloody mouths. She hadn’t shielded herself properly. It had been too long, and though she had thought that she hadn’t, she had forgotten. She had forgotten what it felt like. She shrieked and fell to the ground. Her eyes filled with tears. The snow was still falling. She shivered violently, uncontrollably. She couldn’t contain her fear.

            “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m too weak to help you.”

            She lay in the snow, trying to calm her heart. If she left it here, maybe animals would come and finish it off. But the feeling of its misery was strong, and animals would likely avoid it out of fear. It had already hurt itself so badly. How much more would it take for it to actually die? Then, another thought came to her. It was a strange, frightening thought. But the cold of the snow had made her body and mind numb enough to entertain such a thought. Perhaps she could go and get her pony and her little sled. Perhaps she could take the creature to her home, lay it in her bed, and heal its wounds. It would probably resist that, but she could make it sleep quite easily. She had always been good at sleeping spells. But what then? What if it killed her? Well, that would only be fair after everything that she had done. Her pony might be lonely if she died, but it wasn’t really a pony. Sometimes out of the corner of her eye or in the early morning, the shape would be all wrong for a pony. So, probably whatever her pony really was, it would go back to being that if she was killed. And it would be okay.

            She stood up and brushed the snow from her dress. The partner looked up at her expectantly, waiting for her to kill it. She reached out her hand, but pulled back in fear. Then, she closed her eyes. She imagined it was a lamb. She kept her eyes closed, and reached out her hand again. She could touch it. It was only a lamb. She placed her palm lightly on its forehead, and softly sang. Its head drooped, and it fell asleep. She went to go get her pony and the little sled. She brought it home with her, and all night she tended to its wounds. When morning came, she fell asleep exhausted on the floor.


End file.
